


Making Out For Lost Time

by SpicedGold



Category: Boruto: Naruto Next Generations
Genre: Also it's really hot here, Distance is tricky, I needed some happiness, Inojin misses his boyfriend, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:56:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29859126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicedGold/pseuds/SpicedGold
Summary: They haven’t seen each other in two months, and are keen to make up for lost time.
Relationships: Nara Shikadai/Yamanaka Inojin
Comments: 6
Kudos: 37





	Making Out For Lost Time

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I write almost 3000 words because I wanted to use two lines of dialogue.

Inojin was at Sarada’s house when Boruto came bursting through the door with the news.

Sarada had decided to repaint her bedroom, and she and Chocho had moved everything out, and spent most of the weekend wiping down the walls, and carefully laying drop cloths, and eventually finding the courage to actually begin painting.

Inojin, with nothing better to do, had shown up to help, and had been given the details around the window frames and electrical outlets and told to stop making murals and just paint one damn colour. It had been a fun weekend – Sarada was bouncing around her room with a roller, clad in one of Boruto’s shirts (Inojin didn’t know if Boruto was aware that she had it) and Chocho had painted the ceiling and reminded them to take snack breaks, and Inojin had forgotten the longing in his stomach from missing Shikadai.

Until Boruto bust in, a milkshake in one hand, and exclaimed, “Yo, Shikadai’s home!”

Inojin whipped around to face him. “He’s _what?_ ”

“Control your thirst for five minutes,” Chocho said. “Finish the window, and then you can go.”

“He’s home already?” Inojin ignored Chocho. “Where did you see him?”

“I passed him when I was getting burgers,” Boruto shrugged. “He said he was just going home to shower, then coming to find you.”

Inojin threw a panicked look at Chocho. “That won’t take him long. I should go home. Do I need to shower? Do I look okay?”

“Shikadai doesn’t care what you look like,” Sarada said placatingly, in the same breath that Chocho said, “You look gay and flustered.”

Inojin glanced at the half-painted window, and at the paintbrush in his hand.

“It’ll take five minutes,” Chocho turned him firmly by the shoulders to face the window again. “Finish the job, then run off and make out or whatever you’re going to do.”

“What if he gets to my house before me?” Inojin didn’t know why he was so wound up. Excitement, anticipation. Out of control teenage hormones; he wasn’t sure.

“Then your mom will talk his ear off until you get there,” Chocho replied. “Paint.”

“I should at least change shirts.” Inojin painted quickly and efficiently, finding his sudden deadline to be quite motivating.

“Shikadai does hate that shirt,” Boruto observed idly.

Inojin glanced down at himself. He had no idea why Shikadai had such an adverse reaction to his tie-dyed pink and purple t-shirt with a sunflower on the front, but Shikadai had weird ideas about gender roles and appropriate colours. It didn’t bother Inojin, and he often wore the shirt just to annoy Shikadai. It was a bit of a game, waiting to see how long it took for Shikadai complain about it.

He almost flung his paintbrush at Chocho, exclaiming, “Finished! I’m going home!”

“Thanks for all your help,” Sarada said, as Inojin frantically wiped a blotch of paint off his hand with the corner of a drop cloth.

“Calm down, you lovesick puppy,” Chocho rolled her eyes.

“Chocho, he’s been in the middle of buttfuck nowhere for _two months_ , and I haven’t been able to contact him. _Excuse me_ for being excited!”

“You’re excused,” she waved a hand dismissively. “Go on, then.”

“Later,” Boruto said, casually raising a hand for a high five as Inojin sprinted past him. “Have fun.”

“Not too much fun!” Chocho called after him, and Inojin raised his middle finger in reply.

He practically skipped home, heart pounding.

Finally, _finally_ , after two whole months, Shikadai was home.

He bolted to his room, closing the door a little bit too hard, then stood undecided. Now what? Should he change clothes? Shikadai never really cared what he was wearing. Well, Inojin glanced down at his shirt, except for this particular shirt.

He gripped the hem uncertainly, debating whether or not to change it, wondering if it would affect Shikadai’s mood or inclination to do . . . stuff . . .

He didn’t know why he was nervous. He wasn’t nervous. He was just . . . it had been two months, and he was thrumming with excitement, and it occurred to Inojin that this wasn’t healthy, but fuck it, _two months_.

He heard a knock at the door and leapt out of his bedroom. Rounding the corner to the front door made him stop short.

Ino had already answered the knock, and was talking to Shikadai, and Inojin felt exactly like a whiny pre-teen boy again, with a massive crush, because seeing Shikadai was like a fiery punch to the gut. He looked relaxed and casual, chatting amiably with Ino, his hair still shiny damp from a shower, his backpack slung over one shoulder, and Inojin was drinking in the sight of him in a black t-shirt with some random band pictured on the front – Yodo was always making him listen to weird new music in Suna – and when the fuck had Shikadai gotten so toned?

Inojin suddenly felt incredibly small and pathetic. He knew he was openly staring, and he also knew he wasn’t going to stop.

“Hey,” Shikadai grinned at him, eyes bright, and Inojin felt a little weak at the knees.

“Hey,” he replied, sounding breathless. “Good to see you.”

“I’ll leave you two to catch up,” Ino said, still smiling fondly at Shikadai. “Are you staying for dinner?”

“Sure,” Shikadai replied, with a half shrug. He finally approached Inojin, who had to stop himself from leaping into his arms. He instead grabbed Shikadai’s wrist and practically threw him into his bedroom.

Inojin closed the door and rounded on Shikadai, “I missed you.”

“Missed you too, I guess,” Shikadai shrugged, and it was so nonchalant and so _Shikadai_ , and Inojin couldn’t keep his hands to himself anymore.

He grabbed Shikadai’s shoulders, standing up on his toes to kiss him. Was he taller as well? He felt Shikadai’s hands come to rest on his hips, warm and comforting, and Inojin felt himself relax. And wonder how long it would take before he complained about the t-shirt. But, Shikadai was home, and everything was fine, and all Inojin’s longing and pining could stop.

Inojin pulled back to stare into Shikadai’s eyes. It had been too long, and Shikadai had been too far away, in some remote area of Suna that had absolutely no phone reception. It was then that Inojin slid his hands further down Shikadai’s shoulders, confirming his earlier observation. Shikadai was trimly muscled and firm under his fingers.

“Did you just work out non-stop the entire time?” Inojin gripped at Shikadai’s upper arms firmly, running his hands up and down the muscles there. “Fuck, you’re hot.”

“Thanks?” Shikadai laughed. “I did a lot of work, yes.”

“You’re so tanned.”

“It’s a desert, Inojin. There was a lot of sun.” Shikadai smirked at him, with a slightly smug, crooked smile. “And Shinki made me train with him every day. Also, we were overseeing a road and several buildings being built. Sometimes we helped. I did a lot of heavy lifting.”

_Good_ , Inojin thought. What delightful results it had garnered. “So, um,” he cleared his throat, hand trailing across Shikadai’s chest, “You’re gonna keep up the training, right? We’re not going to let all this muscle go to waste?”

“You must have spent too much time with Chocho while I was gone, because that’s the sort of thing she would say.” Shikadai rolled his eyes. Still no complaint about the shirt. Maybe he hadn’t noticed.

“You know Chocho,” Inojin said lightly, pushing Shikadai until he sat on the bed. “Always checking out guys.”

“Hm. And being a drag.” Shikadai shifted back until he was sitting against the wall, and Inojin decided he might as well take advantage of that and plop himself over Shikadai’s legs, and settle on his lap.

He fidgeted with Shikadai’s shirt. “But all kidding aside, you do look really sexy.”

“Glad to hear it, because that was the opposite of how I felt spending two months gasping for air and drowning in my own sweat and staggering around with bricks and fucking bags of tar.”

“Hm,” Inojin teased the edge of Shikadai’s shirt up a fraction, slightly distracted by the imagery. “Did you take photos?”

“No.”

Inojin huffed. “You’re no fun.”

“I think Suna boiled the sense of humour out of me. That, and Shinki isn’t exactly a riot to be around.” Shikadai curled his fingers in Inojin’s hair. “But enough about me. What did you get up to?”

“Helped Sarada paint her room.” Inojin’s nails scraped lightly at the thin expanse of Shikadai’s firm stomach. “Chocho and I did a few missions. I painted and drew a lot. Himawari and I went out to eat a few times. Several people asked if we were dating.”

“That must have annoyed Boruto.”

“Made Himawari blush,” Inojin said with a broad smile. “Oh, and I worked with my mom on a few things.”

“Glad you kept busy.” Shikadai squirmed a bit at Inojin’s probing fingers, tugging at his hair lightly in retaliation. “Must you do that; it tickles.”

“Yes, I must, because you left me with nothing but my imagination for two months. I’ll do what I want.”

“God, you’re such a drag,” Shikadai pulled Inojin in for a kiss, hand tightening in blond hair, letting out a quiet sigh when Inojin moved his fingers to dig into Shikadai’s chest instead.

“You love me anyway,” Inojin murmured against his lips.

“Probably because Yamanakas play mind games and you’ve tricked me into liking you, even though you’re a pain in my ass,” Shikadai pressed a hot kiss to the side of Inojin’s neck, teeth teasing at skin.

“Yup,” Inojin agreed, a little breathlessly.

“And take that shirt off, it makes you look so gay,” Shikadai rolled his eyes. Ah, there it was.

“I don’t think I’ll look any _less_ gay sitting topless in your lap,” Inojin grinned, and Shikadai let out a sudden laugh that.

“Eh, maybe not. But you’ll look less annoying.” Shikadai’s eyes were bright, and Inojin got lost in them for a moment, just sitting still and staring at him, before Shikadai jolted him back to reality with a sharp tug against his shirt.

Inojin lifted it off his body and threw it aside, heart picking up a bit. He laid his open hand in the centre of Shikadai’s chest, right over the obnoxious heavy metal design. “Your turn.”

“Don’t be mad,” Shikadai said in a low voice, and Inojin cocked his head curiously to the side. “And it’s not permanent.”

“What isn’t?”

Shikadai heaved a sigh, and shuffled Inojin back enough to pull his shirt over his head. Instantly, Inojin’s eyes fell to his chest, and the muted dark brown lines that shaped a dragon. “You got a tattoo?”

“I did not. That’s henna; it just stains the skin. It’ll fade in a few days.”

Inojin ran his fingers lightly across the design. It was intricately detailed, each scale perfectly rendered. “Who drew a dragon on you?”

Shikadai let his head rest against the wall. “Araya.”

Inojin’s eyes snapped up to Shikadai’s. “What?”

“I said don’t be mad.”

“You just let other guys draw on you?”

“Are you jealous?” Shikadai asked, with a crooked grin.

Inojin huffed. “I’m not jealous. I just don’t like other guys touching you.” He continued to idly finger the design. “How long did it take?”

“About two hours.”

“Huh.” Inojin wanted to cover it up, to reclaim the skin, to hide the dragon behind a design of his own. Anything to get rid of it. “How long until it goes away?”

“You _are_ jealous,” Shikadai laughed. “It didn’t mean anything. We had the afternoon off and Araya wanted to practice. He did both Yodo’s arms, and Shinki’s hand.”

“So they all kept their clothes on?” Inojin’s eyes narrowed.

“I told him you would throw a fit,” Shikadai smirked.

“I’m not throwing a fit-“

“Look, it was midday, we had been working all morning and I was tired of feeling nothing but my own sweat so I took my shirt off while I was sitting in the shade. Araya asked if he could practice on me.”

“What did you say?”

“I said ‘my boyfriend’s gonna throw a fit’.”

“Shikadai!” Inojin swatted at his shoulder, annoyed at the teasing. “You probably did it on purpose just so I’d be upset!”

Shikadai caught his fingers before he could take another swing at him. “Don’t be a drag.”

“I want to paint over it,” Inojin mumbled, sinking into a ruffled huff. He traced his other hand over the design. “I want to cover it up with something I made. I want to get rid of it.”

“Yeah. Thought you might,” Shikadai tugged him closer. “Worry about that later.”

Inojin let himself be dragged close, felt the heat radiating off Shikadai’s skin. His fingers dug into the firm muscles of Shikadai’s shoulders, a little tremble of anticipation running through him. Two months without each other, and then Shikadai rolls home like _this_ , and that was the sweetest victory ever.

Shikadai’s hand buried in his hair, and Inojin moved to push his nose against Shikadai’s neck, inhale deeply, and pepper little kisses up and down the throb of his pulse.

Shikadai tasted like sunshine, and felt like desert warmed marble, and Inojin wondered if it would be okay to tell him that, or if Shikadai would snort and dismiss it as romantic fluff.

“What time do you have to be home?” Inojin asked, lips still moving against Shikadai’s skin.

“I’m not going home.”

Inojin pulled back a bit to give Shikadai a quizzical look.

“My parents haven’t seen each other in two months,” Shikadai explained. “I’m not dumb enough to go home tonight.”

“Stay with me?” Inojin asked, leaning back in to nip at the taut tendon in Shikadai’s throat. “Spend the night.”

“I guess I could.”

“Don’t sound too excited.”

Shikadai chuckled softly.

“I’m gonna paint over that dragon,” Inojin muttered. “Get rid of it.”

“If you’re angry about that, you’re going to be really mad about the one on my back.”

“What?” Inojin jerked back. “He drew on your back as well? _Shikadai_!”

Inojin scrambled off Shikadai’s lap and grappled at his shoulder, trying to move him away from the wall. Shikadai removed Inojin’s fingers calmly, and shifted so his back was facing Inojin. Spanning the entire width of his shoulder blades and the full length of his spine was a massively detailed scorpion in the same muted brown colour as the dragon. Inojin would have been impressed by it if it had been on anyone other than Shikadai.

And if Shikadai hadn’t been chortling under his breath with his shoulders shaking, trying not to laugh.

“Stop laughing!”

“I’m sorry, but you’re clearly getting worked up, and it’s just a drawing.”

“On _you_!” It wasn’t his strongest argument, but it was the only one Inojin had. He crossed his arms with a petulant exhale.

Shikadai turned around to face him, mouth quirking up in amusement. “Inojin, you know I only have eyes for you, and you know you’re my world. Stop getting in a huff over this.”

Inojin rolled his eyes, and looked away. “I just want you all to myself . . .”

“And you have that,” Shikadai assured. He beckoned Inojin closer, laying them both down. “See? Just stay close to me like this, and you can’t even see the dragon.”

“I know it’s there, though,” Inojin mumbled, feeling his good mood return when Shikadai held him close with a hand on his hip, and lips on his neck. He craned his head up, letting out a breathy little sigh when Shikadai sucked lightly on the column of his throat.

“So let me take your mind off it,” Shikadai replied easily, fitting Inojin flat against his body. “Let me show you all the things I thought of while I was away.”

“Okay,” Inojin agreed readily, eyes sliding closed and happily willing to submit to whatever Shikadai wanted.

And just like that, two months of waiting and pining were behind him, and Shikadai was there, under his fingers and on his neck and real and firm and, well, Inojin could handle a bit of jealousy in exchange for that.

“Careful,” he growled, when Shikadai’s teeth lingered just a bit too long on one spot. “My mom’s gonna call us for dinner in a few minutes; don’t you dare give me a hickie.”

Shikadai snorted, and pulled back enough give Inojin a flat look. “It’s not like she doesn’t know what we’re doing.”

“But she’s going to frown and give me that weird, judgy look she has. Just don’t.”

As if on cue, Ino could be heard calling from the other side of the house, “Boys! Dinner in ten minutes!”

Shikadai pressed one last, quick kiss to Inojin’s lips. “Fine. We can pick this up again later.”

Inojin rolled away, sitting up and looking for his shirt.

“Don’t put that shirt back on,” Shikadai rolled his eyes. “I hate it.”

Inojin shook the shirt out, and stared directly at Shikadai while he put it back on. He flicked his hair straight. “Then take it off me again later.”

Shikadai smirked at him. “Yeah, yeah. I guess I could.”

It had been a long two months apart, but it felt good to know that things fell right back into place the moment Shikadai returned. Inojin smiled softly at him, happy and content to have him back. “And you can put your shirt back on so I don’t have to look at that dragon.”

Shikadai moved to Inojin in one fluid motion, and whispered into his ear, “Later tonight, when I’ve got you pressed face down into the bed, you won’t be able to see it.”

“That a promise?” His voice shook a bit.

Shikadai pressed a soft kiss behind his ear. “Yup. If you change that stupid shirt.”

“Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a shitty week so I'm spreading some . . . fluff? Vaguely entertaining nonsense? Eh, whatever it is, maybe it brings a smile to someone.
> 
> This is the last hidden one-shot I have for these boys so I'm out of ideas and may not write for them for a while, because I'm also very busy so don't give me ideas either (You know who you are) because I'll want to do that instead of work.  
> Hope everyone has a good day.


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